Wren Bonus Story: Strife Season (male Wren)

“It’s official: I hate strife season.”

I look up in surprise from the fae corpse I’m sketching. It’s a Liner—a long insectoid fae that looks a lot like a dragonfly with pitch-black scales so dark they shine blue. Its wings still beat furiously in death, keeping it suspended about an inch off the ground as its corpse slowly disintegrates on the breeze. “Why?” I ask.

“That’s the fifth fae we’ve had to kill out here.” Wren gestures at the Liner. “Even when we were hunting for Virano, we didn’t encounter that kind of trouble in the desert. It’s so senseless.”

I hum pensively. “They remember the wars. Humans favored this season for building, so fae favored it for attacking us, trying to stop us from building permanent settlements. It’s ingrained in them now, like instinct.”

“I know.” He sighs and opens his own notebook. “I’ll add your sketch and any anatomy notes you care to make to my record. Thank you again for doing this, by the way.”

“Anything for you.” I stand and peck his cheek, handing him the finished product. “You wanted to profile the East Corridor next, right?”

“That’s right.”

It doesn’t take us long to get there. The familiar sight of the watercolor cacti with their white flowers, and the jarring contrast of black liquid that flows from them appear before us in less than twenty minutes of walking. Nothing from this assignment has taken us very far from the city; we’ve been asked to patrol the wilds closest to Leas, making sure everything continues to remain normal—or as normal as it can be—with the pillar up. Wren’s here as an expert to help me. Who better to partner with for this job, after all, than someone who specializes in fae matters and strange magic?

“Home, sweet home,” I comment as I stare up at the towering cacti, thinking of how many times I came here on training excursions as a recruit. “Let’s check it out and get back to Leas. I’m getting hungry, and I’d rather eat in the city than choke down field rations.”

When Wren doesn’t reply I tilt my head questioningly. “What is it?”

“It’s just—how are you so cheerful?” He asks me tiredly. “All this death, and you’re still pushing forward like it’s just another day. We took five lives today, even if they weren’t human.”

“That’s the reality of being an agent.” I shrug. “I won’t say it’s easy, and I don’t think anyone really gets used to it. But we keep going anyhow. You haven’t exactly lived a sheltered life, yourself. Haven’t you come across this kind of thing before?”

“Yes, and it’s why I refused to become a healer.” He looks away. “I couldn’t handle it, working at my family’s clinic. Not that I had much talent at it to begin with, but there you have it.”

“Oh.” My brows rise slightly. I want to help, but there’s nothing I can do about the aggressiveness of the fae right now, and we both know it.

“Forget it,” Wren says, shaking his head. “I should know better by now; I apologize. We’re out here to profile the activity of the fae now that the pillar’s gone up, and that’s important work. Far more important than one archivist’s feelings. Let’s try to finish this and get back to the city.”

“Hey.” I grab his hand as he starts off, anchoring him to me. I pull him closer, and kiss him softly. The way Wren responds feels like a sudden refuge. His arms wind around me and for a moment I forget we’re even in the wilds, that we’ve ever fought or killed at all. I linger in the moment, deepening the kiss and forgetting everything else. I get the distinct feeling Wren's doing the exact same thing.

“Don’t ever apologize for having a heart,” I murmur when I finally pull back. “It’s my favorite thing about you.”

His shoulders drop an inch of the tension he's holding there, and he ghosts his fingers along my cheek. “I could say the same thing about you,” he replies. He makes an effort to smile, and motions for me to lead us into the corridor.